


I'm Gay For My Living Castleship (Posessed By My Dead King)

by Bonymaloney



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Consentacles, Coran is a True Buckaroo, Corangst, Dirty Talk, Dream Sex, Lost Love, M/M, Mechatentacles, Pining, Praise Kink, Sub Coran, Suspension, Wet Dream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-20
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-21 18:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13747062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bonymaloney/pseuds/Bonymaloney
Summary: "It's really just a big embodiment of advanced supernatural technology that cannot be explained by science alone." - Coran





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KingsAndThieves (TehLotteh)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TehLotteh/gifts).



> The title of this fic is based on a parody Voltron/Chuck Tingle book cover made by tumblr user Kingsandthieves. There are more of them, and they are hilarious, so go check them out.

Allura was gone a long time. When she finally returned from the holodeck, Coran comforted her. He knew all too well the strength of emotion she must be feeling at seeing the hologram of her father. Knew because he felt it too.

"Father asked me to send you to him," she said when she could speak again. He nodded, suddenly immensely aware of the lump in his throat.

Part of him was still very angry with Alfor. Coran had been willing to give his life for him, and Alfor had held that gift in the palm of his hand and then rejected it, had asked something of him instead that had been so much harder. When he'd been in the hologram's presence before, he'd barely been able to look at him. 

But now it was just him and Alfor, alone, standing in a warm meadow full of flowers. No matter how much he tried to remind himself that it was all a trick of the light, as soon as his eyes met Alfor's he was weak at the knees, heart pounding just like it had when he was a young man at boot camp and Alfor was the new king.

The version of Alfor that stood before him was older and thinner with lines around his eyes; but the look he gave Coran was so familiar, so tender and warm and knowing that Coran wanted to fall at his feet.

"Gorgeous man," Alfor said in his soft deep voice. "Thank you for everything you've done."

He'd forgotten quite how delicious praise from Alfor made him feel, as his belly flipped and his spine tingled.

Coran would have always done his duty, of course. He was a great believer in tradition, and Wimbleton-Smythes had served the Royal family of Altea for generations, as soldiers and builders and household stewards. But there was a connection on another level with Alfor, something that made him want to give himself over completely, to be used and useful and cherished in return.

Coran felt so full of conflicting emotions he thought he could explode, just explode and die right there. His face felt hot, and his hands were waving in a way that he was sure was very undignified, and he tried to speak, but nothing came out except a cry of frustration.

"Gaaah! You can't- I can't- "

Ever decisive, Alfor stepped forward and kissed him.

His fingertips framed Coran's face, lightly buzzing against his skin. His lips brushed against Coran's, cool and hot at the same time, and it felt so good; but there was no warmth of Alfor, no scent or taste of him, and Coran pushed him away, his hands passing through the former King's chest.

"I can't!" he managed to exclaim again, and then he ran.

He took himself off to a quiet spot to have a bit of a cry, then went to the cryopods and cleaned until he would have earned himself another set of stripes, if anyone had been left around who cared about such things. By the time he came to fix the Paladins' supper and quiz them on celestial navigation, he looked entirely presentable again.

That night, Coran dreamed.

It started off back in the hangar of the Castle, back when Alfor had first shown him the Lions, the great creatures looming over him. Alfor was radiant with his genius and his daring, and he seemed to Coran to be almost as tall as his beautiful, terrible creations. Alfor grinned at him, and he his heart swell with pride in his King. He knelt before Alfor and kissed his hand.

In reality the hangar had always been packed whenever Alfor visited the Lions, but in Coran's dream the two of them were there alone, and then suddenly Alfor somehow _became_ his Lion, and size and scale didn't seem to matter any more as he mounted Coran and drove into him from behind. His power overwhelmed Coran entirely, and he arched back against Alfor, trying to take as much of him inside as he could. The hangar floor was shaking, and he could smell blood and sweat and static..

He awoke with a start, breathless and sticky and tangled in his sheets. The light in his room seemed somehow both too bright and too dim, and the air was hot and humid. The shaking from his dream was still there in the background, almost like a rumbling sound that he could feel rather than hear.

Coran shook his head. The climate control had to be on the blink. He added it to his mental list of jobs for the morning.

He pushed his covers and most of his pillows to the ground and peeled off his shorts and singlet, then lay back onto the bed, uncomfortably aware of the drying mess on his belly and thigh. He toyed idly with the idea of getting up and showering, but his heart was still pounding, his limbs achy with exhaustion.

Eyelids heavy, he stared vacantly up at the wall. The cross stitch of the Castleship, the one he'd hung up as a joke back when the idea he might be forced to spend the rest of his life living on it seemed as remote as the far moon. Of course, once you were actually on board the Castleship, even the far moon itself was only a few ticks away.

The portrait of Alfor beside it was regal and beautiful as always. He seemed to be looking right at Coran, sprawling naked and spent as he was, and the beginnings of a realisation started to form in Coran's mind, but he was so _tired_. The lights in his quarters flickered, and he clenched his fists and moaned softly in response, but then sleep took him and he drifted away under the portrait's watchful gaze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, i realise this is posted twice... I was trying to move some of my other works to another pseud and ended up accidentally deleting the whole damn lot :_( Luckily as this is a WIP I still had this one.


	2. Chapter 2

Over the course of the next few days, Coran forced himself to avoid the hologram. Part of it was his work load, of course. Maintenance, repairs, keeping the Castleship well stocked and his Paladins fed and watered was more than a full time job. 

And Allura needed to be able to spend time with her father. He couldn’t be spending all his time moping around the holodeck talking about the good old days and gazing into Alfor’s eyes, and he wasn’t even a hundred percent sure he wanted to. 

Because Alfor, his best friend, his love, was gone. What remained were only memories and light. Tall and handsome, with that grin that still made him weak at the knees, but still only memories and light. He had to keep reminding himself, because otherwise, Coran wasn’t quite sure what he might do. It was such a long time since he’d been touched in a way that wasn’t either platonic or a punch being thrown. And the thought of Alfor praising him, smiling at him, stroking his hair and telling him he’d done so well...

It was too much to bear. So he did what he always did when he felt conflicted, which was to throw himself into his duties. And if he occasionally paused outside the door to the holodeck, listening to the whir of the processors as they worked, it was only to make sure that everything was running smoothly. For the Princess.

There did seem to be a lot of minor malfunctions lately. The Paladins and the mice helped as much as they could, but it was largely Coran rolling up his sleeves and crawling around inside the walls. He wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead - he still couldn’t get the temperature his quarters down - and checked the next item on his list. 

The Gladiator. 

Regular training meant a lot to Keith in particular, as well as being vital for the team as a whole, so Coran made it his priority. And as he stepped onto the training deck, everything seemed normal. The doors hissed shut, the lights flared, and the Gladiator emerged from the floor in a combat stance. 

“Maintenance mode!” he called swiftly, and the robot slumped. The controls hidden in its chest glowed blue, and Coran began to run the diagnostic subroutine. 

No matter how many times he cleaned it, the air of the training deck retained a faint odour of healthy sweat, human and Altean, and Coran smiled. He remembered the times he’d faced the Gladiator, as a young cadet, as an instructor, then with his Paladins, old and new. Running the gauntlet with Alfor, watching his back with his crossbolt as the King launched himself forward sword in hand; tumbling into bed together afterwards, blood up and breathless with laughter...

A sequence of bleeps distracted Coran from his reverie - the test was complete. None of the results flagged up as unusual, and so he turned his attention to the suite itself. There was a panel in the wall that should pull free and let him - 

As his fingers found the edges of the panel, something slammed into him from behind, and he grunted with surprise. Before he could turn, he was being pressed forward, flat against the wall, one arm pinned behind him, the other out to his side.

The Gladiator bot pressed against him with its full weight, forcing the air out of him. With its smooth rounded surfaces, it wasn’t painful exactly, but it was annoying. He’d really have to go back over the programming, get into the hardware -

He gasped. That _definitely_ wasn’t part of the unarmed combat subroutine. 

The robot was pressing up against the small of his back, blunt and hard and invasive. At least it hadn’t drawn its sword, he reflected. The more he struggled, the more firmly it pinned him, the vivid glow from its eye and the soft buzzing of the chassis growing ever more intense. He squirmed, immobilised, the vibrations running through him as he was forced against the cold hard wall. 

Coran realised with dismay that his body was beginning to respond. Helpless, restrained, being poked and prodded on all the right places... under different circumstances it could have been highly enjoyable. He could feel his pulse in his temples and his groin, and his belly throbbed with dull pleasure, cut through with steadily rising anxiety at the prospect that someone could walk in at any moment...

Eventually he cleared his head and remembered his training. He dropped to one side and allowed his legs to tangle with those of the Gladiator, using its own weight against it as he rolled, ending up on top of his opponent. He swiftly deactivated it, and then stood on shaking legs. 

What was happening? Was this what Keith had been talking about? He’d told Coran that the robot just wouldn’t switch on. Maybe the lad was embarrassed, and truth be told Coran could hardly blame him.

He dusted himself off, and restored his hair and moustache with a huff. That did it. Tomorrow, he was going to get to the bottom of things. 


	3. Chapter 3

Coran was in the zone. 

It always gave him a bit of a thrill to be in the maintenance corridors. It was like being backstage. He remembered the first time he’d visited the newly built castle with his grandfather. They’d seen the bridge and the engines and the elegant staterooms, and then Hieronymous had turned to him. 

“So,” he’d said. “How do you think it all _really_ works?” And he’d brushed his finger against the wall, and a previously concealed hatch had swung open with a rush of warm, dry air, spilling blue light across Coran’s delighted face.

Coran smiled at the memory and ran his hands along the thick cable in front of him, checking its connections were secure, the insulation still intact. He pushed his headtorch back, adjusting the band so that it held the hair from his face, and moved on to the next section. 

Everything seemed to be in order so far, the work repetitive but satisfying. But by the Ancients, it was hot. The hair was back in his eyes, and he went to brush it back, only to find instead a loose hanging wire. He frowned and clicked it back into its socket.

Not wanting to sully his uniform, he’d dressed that morning in a jumpsuit, light and comfortable and with plenty of pockets. And rather flattering, if he did say so himself. Coran liked to have the right outfit for every occasion, even if that occasion was a maintenance overhaul. Even so, though, he found himself overheating. He moved quickly through a narrow opening to a small plant room where he had the space to stand up straight and stretch. 

Able to move more freely, he popped the top half of his suit open, rolling it down and tying the sleeves around his waist. He was casting his eyes around checking dials and gauges, when something tickled the back of his neck. 

He swatted at it, assuming it would be more hair, only to find yet another wire, dangling down from the panel above. Coran started. How had he missed that? He grasped the wire and reached above him with both hands, groping around to try and find the gap where it might belong, and oh quiznak something was moving, something was alive up there and it - 

It wrapped around his wrists, cool and metallic and yet somehow also sinuous. His arms were trapped above his head, stretching his body and straining his shoulders as he tried to wriggle free. He stared frantically around him, wondering desperately how he’d be able call for help, how he would even begin to explain what was happening...

A soft, familiar chuckle, and the hologram of Alfor stepped out through the wall. 

Coran’s first emotion was a wave of sheer exasperation. “Oh, you- you and your bloody pranks!” he managed to exclaim, before redoubling his effort to free himself. “I suppose it’s you that’s been messing around with the heat in my quarters as well?”

Alfor was almost doubled over with laughter as Coran continued thrashing and spluttering with outrage. 

“How else was I going to persuade you to come and visit me? Honestly, Coran, I thought you would have worked it out after the Gladiator.”

“True, that wasn’t exactly subtle,” Coran huffed. “Are you going to let me down then?”

Alfors face grew serious, and he stepped forward, suddenly very close to Coran. 

“Do you want me to?”


	4. Chapter 4

Coran swallowed. Alfor’s eyes were the same shade of deepwater blue they always had been, with the same kind, determined expression on his face. But he was shimmering with that not-quite-thereness of a hologram, and Coran couldn’t get past it. 

“I’m sorry Sire,” he stammered. “I can’t - I mean I want to, but I just...”

“Shh.” Alfor soothed him. “Close your eyes if you like, and be mine for a while.” Coran did so, and felt the ethereal fingers, tingling his scalp as they groomed through his hair. His headtorch clattered to the floor, and he jumped. 

“My Coran,” Alfor said fondly. “Gorgeous man. Working so hard, and doing so well... you must have been lonely.”

Coran felt a sudden, painful lump in his throat, liquid itching behind his eyes. He knew he ought to try and say something positive, but all he could manage was a nod. Alfor’s fingers were caressing the nape of his neck, his throat, then back up to his chin. 

“My memories are all through the Castleship, you know that. When you’re working away with those clever hands of yours, it’s like you’re taking care of me, just like you always used to. Now look at me.” 

Coran was helpless to obey as Alfor tilted his head up so he was looking him right in the eyes, and pressed his thumb firmly against Coran’s lower lip.

“I’m going to reward you for being so brave and loyal. Would you like that?”

Coran simply nodded again. He was beginning to feel the relaxed, blissful sensation that would sweep through him whenever Alfor took charge. The King’s voice was almost hypnotic, soothing and exciting him in equal measure. 

Suddenly the cables that held his wrists began to move, coiling lower along his arms until the cold, flexible tips were inside his undershirt. He gasped, and Alfor chuckled. 

“Relax. Keep your eyes on me. I just want to see more of you.”

More cables sprouted from the floor, wrapping around his waist and beginning to ease the legs of his jumpsuit down. 

“I’m being undressed by the Castleship... this is your invention, I take it?”

“Alfor beamed with delight. “What do you think?”

“Well it’s not exactly Voltron is it, I - aah!” The cables tightened and he was lifted off the ground, knees bent, ankles together, hands behind his back. It wasn’t painful, and only slightly uncomfortable, but it was disconcerting, to be suspended helpless in front of Alfor. 

Two finer, more flexible cables descended from the ceiling and unceremoniously tore away his vest and shorts. He was half hard, and Alfor certainly noticed.

“Still so eager for me, aren’t you? Trapped in the very heart of my Castleship and you’re desperate for me to have my way with you.” His fingers trailed teasingly across his skin, tracing his ribs, his spine, the blue stripes of his belly. He was touching him everywhere except where he was so desperate to be touched, and Coran whined and squirmed in his bonds. 

“What am I going to do with you?” Alfor murmured. Coran could feel his cock stiffen and swell. Alfor’s steady gaze made him ashamed and aroused in equal measure, and the shame only increased the arousal, as he hung naked before Alfor with no way to hide his ever growing excitement. He could feel sweat on his temples and rolling down his spine, his groin throbbing in time with his pulse, desperate for any kind of relief to his aching, weeping erection. Alfor’s eyes never left his. 

A soft whirring sound behind him startled Coran, breaking the spell as he twisted to try and see over his shoulder. 

“Keep your eyes on me,” Alfor said sternly. He pushed three fingers into Coran’s mouth, pressing down flat against his tongue. It felt like licking a battery. “If you look away again, I’ll punish you. If I feel any teeth, I’ll punish you. Alright?”

Coran nodded and made an indistinct but passionate sound. Alfor smelled like ozone, his fingers almost but not quite far back enough to trigger his gag reflex. He sucked and laved them with his tongue, trying to make his stare up at Alfor as provocative as possible, only for his eyes to widen as he felt another of the living metal tendrils slip between his buttocks and probe gently at his hole.

“Breathe,” Alfor murmured again. With his free hand he stroked Coran’s hair, soothing him as he moaned. His whole body trembled as he forced himself to relax and take the penetration as the tentacle, smooth and cool and incredibly flexible, wriggled its way inside him. “That’s it... So obedient for me, aren’t you. So loyal. Remember how you used to touch me? You would run your hands all over my body while I fucked you, until in the end you were so desperate you would just grab my hips and try and take my cock as deep and hard as you could...”

Eventually, Alfor seemed to feel that Coran was sufficiently full. He paused and embraced Coran, stroking him and pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Well done,” he whispered. “You took it so well. Now, are you ready?”

Coran groaned and nodded frantically, spit drooling from the corners of his mouth, his erection bobbing and straining as he leaked clear fluid all down his thighs. He was desperate to finish, and at the same time he wanted it never to end. 

His eyes widened and he yelled as the tentacle inside him suddenly flared, rhythmically expanding and contracting, pulsating into him, vibrating so hard he felt his whole body tremble. He groaned and then he shrieked and then he sobbed. 

Finally, Alfor took pity on him, and a length of smooth, slippery cable wrapped itself around his shaft, squeezing and rolling against his skin until he came so hard he thought he would pass out, with lights flashing behind his eyelids and blood rushing in his ears as he thrashed against his restraints. Boneless and spent, he was dimly aware that he was being lowered to the ground, the cables retreating back into ceiling and floor panels as though they had never been there. 

Alfor sat beside him, and Coran laid his head in his lap the way he had so many times before. The holographic projection wasn’t strong enough to support his weight, and so he technically ended up with his head through Alfor’s thigh, but he didn’t want to think about that. Instead he closed his eyes and relished how warm and relaxed he felt, endorphins mingling with the sweet pain of knowing how much he had been loved, even though his real love was gone; and the hologram of Alfor held his hand. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Coran awoke in his own bed. He stretched, cautiously feeling out the ache in his muscles, the satisfying soreness in his backside. Contented, he rested a while, enjoying the peace of what passed for early morning on a deep space vessel. 

His dozing was interrupted by a deep, irregular thrumming noise coming from the ceiling panels. He looked up towards the vent above his bed, trying to work out what he was seeing. Suddenly something fell from the vent, landing on the pillow beside him. He turned, and reached out with trembling fingers. 

A single juniberry flower, a real one, flooding the room with its scent. Coran cradled the delicate flower in his hands, and wondered.


End file.
